


Drogo's Northern Bride

by Quryuu



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Dubious Consent, F/M, Female Jon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 09:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14017542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quryuu/pseuds/Quryuu
Summary: Those of House Stark were never meant to set foot in Essos. However, the actions of one petty woman has changed the course of history for the North and for the Dothraki.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. This is just something that ran through my head. This is NOT cannon.

How could the gods allow this to happen?

Jona Snow let her grey eyes wander the scene around her. Hundreds if not thousands of Dothraki surrounded the small patch of dirt acting as an arena, in which she stood. Their yells and cries nearly deafened her. Never in her ten and five years had she imagined she would set foot in Vaes Dothrak, let alone the continent of Essos. 

She had known from an early age that she lived in Winterfell only due to her father’s generous nature. It was rare for any man, even an honorable lord, to acknowledge their bastards. To allow one to grow up with his trueborn children, as well as allow her the same education, was nigh unheard of. Yet that is exactly what Lord Eddard Stark had done, despite the constant protests from his Lady wife. 

Catelyn Stark had hated Jona with a passion since the first moment she laid eyes on the innocent babe. Jona knew it from the first time she was truly aware of the people around her. Being shy and timid, Jona preferred to simply avoid Lady Stark, the northern servants helping her whenever possible. As she grew older and closer to most of her siblings it became harder to hide from the woman, especially when the visiting lords would comment on her beauty and poise. Though she had not shared lessons with her sisters’ septa, she had been raised to know all the things a lady needed to know, and several they supposedly did not. 

It was during her lessons with Ser Rodrik, or any of the soldiers really, that she was grateful to be a bastard. Otherwise she never would have been given leave to learn the sword, and she did not want to know what life would have been like without it. The sword was more a part of her than any other tool she had used. She excelled in the ways of battle, and often heard others comment on what a shame it was she had not been born a male for she could have been a knight with such skill. Even Theon knew to take her seriously in the ring, though it took a few times of throwing him to the dirt for it to stick. Robb often japed she was better than him, and in some ways she was. 

Truthfully, aside from Lady Catelyn’s persistent hate, Sansa’s willful ignorance for her existence and Septa Mordane’s disapproving looks, life in Winterfell had not been bad. She knew she would have to marry someday, perhaps even a second or third son of one of the northern lords. However, she had apparently vastly underestimated Lady Catelyn’s loathing for her, along with the woman’s ridiculous fear that Jona would somehow steal her children’s inheritance. Perhaps she might have been persuaded otherwise, had Small Jon Umber not opened his big mouth and declared Jona the true beauty of the North over Sansa. 

This apparently had acted as the final straw to Lady Catelyn’s fragile patience with Jona’s presence in Winterfell. While Lord Stark would never consider sending her away before he married her off, Lady Stark had found a way to take matters into her own hands. Or so she had learned from her kidnappers. 

The foolish woman had allowed slavers into the north, secretly, to steal her husband’s bastard away. To not bring any suspicion on just one child disappearing, especially the bastard of the Lord Paramount, she had told them to steal as many other bastard children as they pleased. It seemed even the idea of bastardy offended the highborn bitch. Enough that she would naively believe such men would ever hold true to their arrangement. Oh they took bastards from all over the north, but they also took just as many trueborns with them. 

Grey eyes shifted to the side where some forty northern children were corralled between Dothraki warriors. Most were commoners, but a few nobles had been stolen as well, since the men’s greed knew no bounds. These included the likes of Lyanna Mormont and Torrhen Karstark. The latter had one arm bandaged to his side, courtesy of the slavers they had escaped months ago. The poor lad was chomping at the bit for it to finally heal.

Jona wondered how the houses of the North had reacted to finding so many children missing? Even more if they had discovered Lady Stark’s hand in this heinous crime. To think so many children had been stolen from their homes because of one woman’s petty jealousy. 

Not that she would ever find out, even if she did complete the deal she had made with Khal Drogo. It had already been over a year since they had been spirited away from the North. With slavery so prominent in Essos it would have been next to impossible for anyone back home to find a group of northern children. Some had not even made the trip over the sea, and a few others had perished at the hands of their captors. Jona had tried to keep their attention on her and away from the other children, taking as many of their punishments as she could, but she could not save them all. 

Though she did not carry the Stark name she had their blood and she felt inherently responsible for the wellbeing of these children. They were of the North and the Starks were charged with caring for the people of the North. So Jona would do all in her power to protect them to her dying breath. 

That was why she had learned what she could from the slavers, including the information about how Lady Stark had started this. That was why she had taken the whippings and beatings to spare the others. That was why she ate only the barest amounts, to give the rest to the youngest and weakest to assure their survival. That was why she drove a blade into the heart of the lead slaver and killed many more, freeing her people and leading them back towards the coast. 

She had known it was a long shot, but better they die free than as slaves. The others had agreed as well, following her lead, despite the older and more noble members of their little pack. 

Sadly their path had taken them into the edges of Dothraki territory. It was there Khal Drogo and his Khalasar found them. Jona and some of the others had fought to protect the little ones (though Lyanna never accepted herself as little, despite her five years of age). Only the old gods could answer why none of them were killed.

Perhaps it was due to the fact Jona had ordered hers not to kill, but to incapacitate. The location aided in her strategy ending up with several Dothraki wounded or unconscious. Still the men never tried to seriously harm them, though she could see the anger and frustration in their eyes. Until Khal Drogo and his Blood Riders approached, causing the others to fall back. 

Jona remembered the dread she felt watching the leader of these warriors approach. The Dothraki were strong and intimidating by nature, their lifestyle making them fierce. This man, however, took it to another level. She had seen lords and high-ranking military men, but none of them exuded the silent lethal ability this man oozed. His figure was imposing and awe inspiring at the same time. Everything about him spoke to his expertise in fighting. 

Jona had been confused when he motioned his men back, including all of lingering (conscious) warriors. Unsure of his intentions, Jona ordered her own back, using the cliff walls to shelter them from any surprise attacks. A few, like Torrhen, had argued, but a look from her had them obeying. 

Soon only Jona and Khal Drogo were facing off, one curious the other in full defensive position. 

The Khal had yelled out to her in his language, but she only knew a few words. Once her knowledge, or lack there-of was determined he called to his men, his eyes never leaving hers. (Part of her was glad she had learned how to pick up the basics of any language from Maester Luwin). Still, his gaze unnerved her, as if he could see into her very soul.

Soon a woman came forward, dressed as most Dothraki women were. She spoke Westerosi, but in such a broken manner that it grated on Jona’s frayed nerves. Finally she just snapped out in Valyrian for the girl to get on with it. (And her father had doubted her need for learning the language) Visibly relieved, the woman began to translate their conversation. 

The Khal had surprisingly offered her a deal. If she travelers to Vaes Dothrak and compete in some sort of trial, she wasn’t sure of all the details on that, he would let the northern children go free, even have an escort take them to the nearest city. She knew from the way he said it she was not included in that part of the deal. Still…

In a way it was her fault the others were here. Had she not been born, or had she left Winterfell to live elsewhere then Lady Catelyn would not have put her heinous plan into action. The children would never have been taken from their families, their homes; they would be safe and happy back in the North. 

Never had she been so happy that the vast majority of northerners, even the nobles, failed to learn Valyrian. She knew most would be furious if they realized just what sort of deal she was making. Her little group had become a pack to survive in this harsh environment, and they would be most put out to lose her. However, it was her duty to make sure they got home safely, and if this was the way she would take it. 

So she countered the Khal’s offer with one of her own. She would agree to compete in the trial, but he had to have the northern children taken to a port city, and they had to find a ship with a specific sigil flying on it. Her lessons with Robb informed her that the Manderly’s did trade with Santh, and a few other northern ports in Essos. It was the best guarantee she had that the children would make it home. 

The smirk that curled his lips had her stomach twisting nervously. It did not dissipate when he agreed to her terms, but she would first have to go through the trial. Reluctantly she agreed, but she did make him swear on his gods to honor his agreement whether she won or lost, afterall she only agreed to compete. His eyes shone brighter then, not with anger as she expected but… pride? Maybe even triumph. 

With the agreement struck she rounded up her pack and informed them of the deal, leaving out the little bit where win or lose, she would remain behind. Most cheered, assured of her victory and how they would be home soon. A few of the more skeptical ones gave her knowing looks, yet kept their silence. At least for the time being they would be protected and fed, which Jona counted as a bonus. 

On the journey to Vaes Dothrak she and her pack had been mostly left to themselves, with a few warriors watching their every move. Aside from them and a few women attending to their needs, no one else approached them. Most did try to catch a glimpse of them, especially Jona, but nothing more. Khal Drogo had not sought her out to speak again, and she never saw him despite feeling the distinct sensation of his gaze. Still, he was the leader of a very large Khalasar from what she could see, and with the deal already brokered there was no need for him to speak to her again. Yet she couldn’t help wondering what exactly he wanted from her. 

Taking in the various raised platforms around this ‘arena’, holding the different Khals of other Khalasars, and one with several woman, she thought it might be as simple as showcasing an oddity he’d found. ‘Come see the strange northern female perform strange tests, you’ll be entertained’. From the way many were looking at her and her pack, it was a plausible argument. Most clearly had never seen people such as Jona or her children, however some certainly had. Two blonds, clearly not of Dothraki descent, sat on one of the dais’ with a Khal, who seemed more of a big brut than a powerful Khal. Another man stood off to the side of the platform, watching Jona and the children with recognition in his eyes. He looked northern, yet she had never met him before. Perhaps he was surprised to see some of his own people so far from home?

Looking towards her pack again, she gave them her best reassuring smile. The one she would give her siblings to make them believe all was well even if it was not. Most seemed to fall for it, but the less naïve did not. Really, Lyanna needed to stop frowning so much or her face would freeze like that. Torrhen didn’t look much happier. Originally he had wanted to fight in her place, however a pointed look to his still healing arm silenced him quick enough. 

Granted, his ire could be for the rather revealing outfit they had stuffed her into for this farce. She was relieved of her normal garb for a barely there wrap around her chest and a scandalously short skirt. Her normally loose hair was braided back tightly, though several of her curls escaped easily enough. The only weapon they allowed her was a sturdy staff in a wood she could not recognize. Irri, the maiden that had translated for them, had explained she would be performing several tasks that the Dothraki considered sacred and/or difficult. First she would have to walk across a bed of coals to prove her resolve. Then she must tame a wild horse and ride it bareback through a series of obstacles. Once done with that she would have to prove her skills in archery, not only from a stationary position on the ground but on a horse as well. Thank the gods she constantly goaded Theon into such competitions back home otherwise she’d be completely lost. Finally she would have to fight the First Blood Warrior of the Khal who had captured her. If she proved her might against him then she would face the Khal himself. It was not expected for her to beat the Khal, but it was expected for her to mark him. If she completed all of these tasks she would pass the trial and the children would go free.

There was the crux of this whole charade. While she would win freedom for her pack by going through this trial, the moment she lost her freedom would belong to the victor. From the way Drogo’s eyes seemed to follow her possessively from his own platform, she got the feeling he planned to be the one to own her in the end. 

Studying the tired, dirty faces of her pack she knew in the end her sacrifice would be worth it. They were worth it. 

Closing her eyes she pulled on everything of the North within her. She let the noise around her fade into the background and centered on the ice in her blood. A breeze danced around her and she swore she could smell a hint of snow. She would fight, she promised the old gods. She would complete this trial, complete the tasks, defeat these men and save her pack. She asked them to give her the strength to see this through and to watch over her children. Another breeze ruffled her loose curls as if to answer. 

Hard grey eyes snapped open as the ‘announcer’ called out verifying the bed of coals was ready. It was long and from the looks of the coals extremely hot. Curling her naked toes a bit she took a deep breath to steel herself for the pain to come. 

“Winter is coming,” she whispered.


	2. chapter 2

Khal Drogo watched in seemingly bored fashion as the northern girl took her first step over the hot coals, her face barely showing any of the pain he knew she must have felt. He had not been sure about his decision some months ago, but he knew now watching this magnificent beauty that he had indeed chosen true. Even his Blood Riders had agreed, especially after meeting his first option.

His dark eyes wandered for a moment to the silver haired beauty beside Khal Zekko. She could have been his and part of him wondered. Yet the words of the First Dosh Khaleen, who had called for him shortly after he received the request for the marriage alliance, still rang through his mind.

: Flashback:

Drogo was irritated more than usual and was ready to be far from Vaes Dothrak. Normally he enjoyed being in the main city, however, the latest meeting of the Khals had left him drained and at the end of his patience. Why Ogo had to goad Zekko he did not know. Then the upstart Margo was posturing again to impress the other Khals, which annoyed them in the end. Really the boy was lucky he’d survived this long. Most of them had bets as to how long he’d last as a Khal; the only thing they all agreed on was it would be a short tenure. 

Still it was his duty to meet with the other Khals to exchange information and pick up on any subtle or not so subtle threats to his Khalasar from others. So he suffered through hours of arguments, boasting and monotonous reports, all the while thinking of the quickest way out of the city and back to the open plains. 

This plan was rudely interrupted when he’d been informed the Dosh Khaleen had summoned him. 

While not unusual for the women to call on one Khal or another, it was a first in many years for Drogo. The women knew he did not think much of their ‘advice’, always taking it with a grain of salt. His mother had once told him that while it was tradition, most were still just women, some who learned nothing from their husbands. He had to respect tradition and show them their due, but he was not one to base his plans on their information alone. Instead he trusted in his own instincts and the information he gathered.

This method had yet to fail him. In fact many times he had discovered the words of the Dosh Khaleen had been terribly misinformed. It was no secret to the women either that he did not trust their judgment. So they generally did not call on him after his second year of being a Khal, instead they would wait for him to come to them. So for them to summon him was unusual. They had better have a good reason for it; especially in the mood he currently sported.

Entering the domain of the women he first noted just how quiet it was. Normally the women were nattering on about this or that. The second thing he noted was that the women were huddled towards one corner instead of around the fire as per normal. They looked rather disturbed, their eyes flickering from him to the far side of the room. There he found his mother waiting for him nervously next to the sacred door. 

All Dothraki knew about the sacred door, but none knew what was behind it. Legends said the First Khaleen resided behind this door and very few were ever allowed beyond it. Most assumed the First Khaleen was simply a title given to the eldest of the living Khaleens to show reverence for her position. But others believed it was actually the very first Khaleen of the Dothraki nation, who had been married to the very first Khal. They said magic of the Great Stallion had empowered her with long life to continue watching over the great nation her husband created. 

No one had ever been able to confirm or deny either theory, yet he knew which his mother believed. She had instilled in him a healthy respect for magic. ‘It may not be prevalent now, my son,” she’d tell him in quiet times. ‘But it is out there. Some abuse it while others use it for good. Never underestimate those that claim to have it. Better to be overly cautious than dead.’

It was one of the few beliefs his mother had that his father never scoffed at. Even the great Khal Bharbo held wary respect for magic, so Drogo would as well. 

Reaching his mother he raised a brow in question. She merely shook her head, her hand taking his for a moment as if to give him strength, or perhaps reassure herself. Once she let go she directed him to go through the door. The hairs on the back of his neck rose at the thought. 

Mentally shaking himself, he drew his shoulders back and pulled forth his courage. He was Khal Drogo, one of the strongest Khals alive. He would face this as he faced everything in his life. 

With a short nod to his mother he pushed past the door entering the sacred domain. Not even a foot within the room the door slammed shut of its own accord. On his guard he moved further in, eyes darting around for threats. 

“Welcome Khal Drogo, son of Khal Bharbo,” a raspy voice greeted from the darkness. 

“You know me, but who are you,” he replied with a hint of cautious respect. Unlike other Khals he knew when to play it safe. 

A light chuckle echoed through the room, before the torches lit up in a single burst of light, casting a warm glow. Once his eyes adjusted he almost cringed back in fear. The woman sitting in the near nest of blankets looked withered and old, her skin tough as leather, but her pure white eyes remained sharp, unnerving him with the way the blank pools seemed to pierce into his very soul. Clearly she saw more than those who still had their eyesight. 

“I have had many names over the centuries,” she told him wryly. “I have long forgotten my true name. You may call me Mother Mare.”

The casual confirmation of the legend sent chills down his spine, yet he could detect no lie in her words. In fact, there was something about her very essence hat told him this woman was indeed the first Khaleesi of the Dothraki Nation. 

“Why have I been summoned, Mother Mare,” he ventured carefully.

“So respectful, yet cautious,” she noted with humor. “Good. Too many put too much confidence in what they think they know. Caution will keep you alive.” She paused, a dry smile twisting her lips, adding even more wrinkles to the map of her face. “Well, normally. Fate had dictated you would die in less than two years; victim of a dark witch’s curse all for the love of your Khaleesi.”

Drogo froze, fear and indignation warring within him. “So you called me here to tell me I will die,” he bit out angrily.

“Foolish boy,” she snapped, ending his tirade quickly. “Listen to the words that are used! I said fate HAD dictated.”

Drogo thought for a moment, calming his mind before responding. “So… my death is no longer preordained?”

“I did not say that either,” she countered blithely. One skeletal finger pointed to a stone basin sitting before her, the water inside rippling in an unnatural way. “Something has occurred in the past moons that was not meant to occur. A dragon-wolf has been brought to our lands, where she was never meant to set foot. New paths for the future have opened to you, and more importantly to the Dothraki.”

The mention of the dragon-wolf confused him. He had recently received a proposal from a merchant in Pentos to marry a Targaryen princess in exchange for providing an army to her brother. But to his knowledge she was only a dragon, her parents having been siblings. It was not considered a good practice for siblings to marry in the Dothraki, as it causes many sicknesses in the offspring. Anyone who bred horses knew this. However, even the Dothraki knew of the power of the Dragon kings. Though diminished, to add such a bloodline to his own would be very advantageous. 

Still, there was nothing about wolf blood in the girl. Perhaps Mother Mare meant another girl completely? Afterall the Targaryens had been in Essos for years, so clearly they were not a part of this recent occurrence. 

Choosing to say nothing he waited to see if Mother Mare would continue. It was best to have all of the facts before acting. 

The crone laughed happily, the sound akin to sand against rock. “Yes! Yes! I knew I was right to call you here! Of all the Khals living today only you have the strength to see our people through the Darkness to come. If,” she warned sharply. “You make the right decision.”

“What is this right decision,” he asked. “And what Darkness to you speak of?”

“I cannot tell you the right decision,” she informed him stoically. “Only you can decide your future. All I can tell you are the options, though even that is pushing the boundaries given by the gods. As for the Darkness.” Here she shuddered, pure fear crossing her features. “Far to the North in the coldest lands a great evil awakens. It controls the very dead, pitting them against the living. It seeks to wash this world in eternal night. It will focus on Westeros, but Essos is still in danger. There are paths from our lands connected to those lands. It will be a battle between the living and the dead.”

Drogo took a moment to absorb the words. Vaguely he remembered the old legends about ice creatures, far past the Grey Lands. There was more but he could not grasp those memories. He would need to speak to Khal Motho; his Khalasar was the oldest, perhaps they would know. For now he would focus on what he could control at present.

“What choices must I consider?”

Again the crone flashed him an approving smile. 

“The first path has already been offered to you. A dragon bride for an army. This dragon has yet to grow her teeth and claws, her brother still controlling her. But in time she would be known as the Great Khaleesi, the Breaker of Chains and the Mother of Dragons. You would grow to love her, but you will never meet any child carried by her in this world.”

It sounded like the dragon princess would be the one to lead him to his death in two years. Yet, if she was known as the Great Khaleesi, then surely he was the Great Khal? That would be quite the legacy to leave his child…

“The second path leads to the dragon-wolf, who has learned to use her teeth and claws in the defense of others. She does not know the fire in her blood, only the ice. She too you would come to love, though the way will be difficult and wrought with dangers. She would challenge you like no other, a true equal. She too would be known as great. When you go to battle, so too would she. And when she must go to battle, so too would you.”

Drogo couldn’t help but stare blankly at her for a moment. It sounded like she was suggesting this girl would be more than a Khaleesi, but that had not occurred in at least four generations. A woman equal to a Khal. Khaleesi were honored, but they did not have the same power as the Khal, or even his Bloodriders and some of his Kos. But a Khalsa would be second only to him. According to stories, the only way for a woman to become a Khalsa was to endure the trail of sacred tasks, fight the First Blood Warrior of the Khal and finally the Khal himself. Of course it was expected for the Khal to defeat the woman, but by completing the tasks and defeating his First Blood Warrior she would prove herself to the Khalasar. Again this was very rare, with only two to three remembered in all of Dothraki history. 

But… Khalasars with a Khal and Khalsa always had a history of greatness to them. They also had many hardships to face. Should he put his people through that? Would this girl be worth it?

“The third path,” she announced breaking through his thought process. “Is to do as many Khals have done and marry both.” While this appealed to him greatly, he sensed this was not an actual choice. “However.” He hated being right. “The sick dragon would pit bride against bride. You would be torn between the women and the Khalasar would be split.”

As he thought, not an option. 

“And finally. You can do nothing,” she finished blithely. 

“Nothing?”

“Aye. Many men choose that route,” she stated in a bored fashion. “It is easier than the other paths. Of course, men who do nothing are never spoken about in history. To do nothing is to simply exist. Great men do not ‘simply exist’.”

:End Flashback:

He’d left then, his mind buzzing with information. For several days he remained silent on the subject, instead focusing on moving his Khalasar out into the plains. Riding always helped him to think and he needed to be away from Vaes Dothrak to do so properly. Finally his Blood Riders had had enough of his brooding and forced him to speak. It was with their help that he made his decision. 

Qotho, his calmest and most levelheaded friend, suggested the plan. While most agreed a Khalsa would be beneficial, hardships aside, he felt Drogo should get the measure of the Targaryen girl and her brother. Did one not inspect a horse before choosing it as a mount? Some of his trusted Kos would go with him as well, Jhago, a great judge of character and Puno, one of his best strategists. Both had promised to remain unbiased until they met with the Targaryens. 

In the end Drogo had not needed their input. While he could see how beautiful the girl was, such that had he not spoken to Mother Mare he would have married her in a heartbeat, upon closer inspection he glimpsed the same madness her brother had in spades. It was barely there, almost miniscule, but there all the same. Her timid nature also did not stir him as he first expected. Khals preferred obedient woman, as it made their lives easier. Yet, he wanted more; he wanted someone to make his blood sing. She did not do so for him. There was also something in his gut telling him that this was not the best choice for him. Where before he could have ignored it, now it pushed him to walk away. 

Never had he been so glad to walk away from something in his life. Not when little over a moon later he ran into his grey-eyed dark haired warrior goddess. It had occurred completely by chance and just when he began to second-guess his original decision. One of his outriders had spotted the strange group making their way north. Normally he would not care, especially as it was reported this group had no goods to speak of, but one of his men described them as foreigners of the likes he had never seen. 

Following a hunch he told them to engage but not to kill. What he witnessed after only solidified his choice. His Blood Riders and Kos were ecstatic as well, watching the girl, clearly tired and underfed, manage to rally the group to defend their position and stall his warriors. When he finally called a halt to the ‘attack’ and moved to face her steel grey eyes captured his own sending his blood pumping in a way he had never experienced. 

It didn’t take him long to gain a basic understanding of the situation or to work it to his advantage. He knew right away she understood exactly what his offer entailed. Her eyes had flashed with far more intelligence than he’d seen from the dragon princess. The counter offer she had presented told him of her practicality and he found his opinion increasing. 

The girl was a true protector. She could fight but she would only do so when given a reason. He would make her his and in turn give her his Khalasar to protect and guide. No matter what came their way he knew they would be able to prevail. He could feel it in his bones.

The fact she could best some of his warriors was also surprisingly arousing. He barely managed to keep a smile down as he remembered the way she had fought off some of his warriors. Already he had had to shift multiple times to ease the tightness in his trousers. 

The sound of shocked gasps and cheers brought him back to the present. The girl had easily completed the first task, which was harder than most people thought. He could see the dragon king scoffing, but most people could not even get halfway over the hot coals. His woman had done so without even one flinch, proving that when she was resolved nothing would stop her. 

No Dothraki currently living had ever seen this trial being performed. The Elders had come together consulting with the Dosh Khaleen to make sure they had all the appropriate rules and procedures down. Even with the ridiculous adherence to procedure the Dothraki nation was in full celebration mode. People were eating and drinking in excess, dancing and fucking, and generally enjoying life. And this great event had come about because of HIM. It was very hard not to send smug smirks at his fellow Khals. 

He did wonder how she would handle the next task. He had not seen her around horses and though he knew they had horses in Westeros, not many women rode them. There was also the fact that the Dothraki bred powerful battle horses, trained from birth to perform for their owners. The wild horse would either be one that had never been able to be broken, or one of the very few mares found wandering in the wilds and taken more for the meat than actual riding. 

So when the ‘wild’ horse was brought in he was equally shocked and angered. The horse being dragged in to the ring, fighting all the way, was a huge brut of a stallion that had been found near the Grey Wastes and barely captured. Many had tried to break the great beast but none had managed. It was a good three hands taller than their best stallion, broader and far more muscled. Old Motho said he had heard there were horses like this in northern Westeros, but they did not know how it could have gotten into Essos. The creature had been deemed sacred and left to graze in the fields of Vaes Dothrak, in the hopes it might sire some offspring they could tame, but all had given up hope of taming this horse. To have it being used for this made him furious. 

One look towards the other Khals told him who had thought this little change to the test up. Khal Morgo was smirking viciously, no doubt hoping for Drogo to lose face when he would inevitably have to step in to save the girl. He would enjoy castrating the bastard. Already the handlers were being pushed back, and the crowd working to get away from the bucking creature, it’s angry cries and kicking feet telling of its ire. Drogo went to stand when suddenly, to everyone’s surprise his girl yelled out to the handlers. 

She stormed forward, grey eyes flashing harshly as she pushed them away one by one, forcing them to drop the ropes. She was speaking in Westrosi, so many had no idea what she was saying, however, strangely the horse started to calm down. A proud smile started to curl Drogo’s lips. By the Great Stallion, his woman was a true gem.


	3. chapter 3

Jona growled angrily as she pushed the last fool away. How dare they treat this horse like this? She thought the Dothraki treated horses with respect? Finally the great horse was free of the pulling ropes and Jona turned to the horse, making sure to stay in his sights at all times, hands up speaking calmly.

“Don’t worry I won’t let them bother you,” she assured him, moving close slowly. “I’m just going to remove these ropes. Honestly these idiots treating you like this. Don’t they know what you are? I do. You’re a northern warhorse. My father has some of your breed at home. You’ve got to be one of the biggest I’ve seen though. You’re truly magnificent.”

The whole time she spoke she cautiously and calmly moved to remove the ropes from around the horses neck and mouth. The horse had calmed significantly, breathing hard, his nostrils flaring to take her scent in. Jona let him, even allowing the small warning nip he gave. She did move her hands along his nose and neck, trying to rub out the pain he was likely feeling from the now removed restraints. 

“There that’s better. They just don’t understand how to work with you do they? Though I wonder how you got here,” she mused softly. “Maybe you were stolen like we were? Or maybe the rumors that the Land of Always Winter reaches up and around the world to the other side of Essos are true? Old Nan would like that. She did say the ice used to cover the whole world. Not that I believe her.” As Jona kept speaking the horse moved to rest his giant head on her shoulder, nuzzling her slightly and enjoying the soft sure touch she provided as she continued to comfort him. “You certainly seem to recognize my words. I bet you were trained by one of the northern houses weren’t you? Shall he see?”

She moved back a bit staring at the horse to make sure she had his attention. “Present.”

The horse shuffled a bit then raised its head and stood proudly like a soldier.

“Very good,” she praised. “March!”

The horse cantered its front hoofs in place in a steady rhythm.  
Neither noticed the sheer silence of disbelief.

“Yes, you’re one of us aren’t you boy,” Jona grinned moving to pat the horse’s neck happily.

XXX

Drogo felt like laughing in a mix of relief and sheer pride. Of course the horse acted up! They hadn’t known how to speak to it! Yet here was his intended bride, impossibly tiny next to the great stallion, commanding it as easily as one did a slave. Seems Margo’s attempt to humiliate him and ruin his prospective bride just blew up in his face. Now Drogo looked even better for his choice in partners and his Khalasar had first dibs on this beautiful horse. Clearly the Great Stallion approved of his decision and was showing it again and again. 

“How is it possible,” he heard Khal Zekko snarled. He too had thought he had one upped Drogo when he had snatched up the Dragon girl for a wife, only to be shown up again. 

“Because it is a Northern Warhorse Khal Zekko.” The Westrosi looking man standing by the dais the other Khal and his wife sat on answered in Dothraki. Drogo had no issues eavesdropping as he clearly knew something. “This girl is from the North, a daughter of the Starks who rule that area, I believe. Of the horsemen in all of Westeros, they are some of the best.”

This knowledge pleased Drogo more, though he did notice the Dragon King growled angrily scowling at his soon to be wife. 

“Stark? Did you say Stark?” The man confirmed with a nod. Drogo only knew what he said as one of his interpreters was ‘pretending’ to serve him wine, informing him of what was spoken in a low voice. “So she is the daughter of the Usurper’s dog,” he snarled eyes flashing with his anger.

“I do not know for sure you’re grace,” the man answered slowly. “She has the Stark look though, and he does have a bastard said to be around her age.”

The dragon snorted cruelly. “So even the dog throws away his own pups.”

But the man shook his head in disagreement, a surprising move considering how much he appeared to cater to the gutless boy. “In the north blood ties are sacred. For her to be here, for any of these northern children to be here, something bad had to have happened. Trust me when I say if Lord Stark finds out she is here, he will not let it stand.”

Before his interpreter could hear anything else the crowd started cheering again. Drogo shared a look with his Blood Riders. It seemed his new wife had powerful ties in Westeros. That may prove beneficial or even a hindrance. Still, the man was foolish enough to let not only his daughter but also several northern children to be taken, so to Drogo he lost the chance to truly say anything about him claiming the girl. Still, it explained her knowledge of horse and even some fighting. Apparently the northern houses in Westeros didn’t coddle their women like the rest of that continent. Most traders he had spoken too mentioned how soft the women of that kingdom were, except for some of those in Dorne, though even they did not have many fighters. Granted, not much was known of the north, the lands and seas around it too cold to traverse most of the time. 

The next task had been set up and his woman had chosen to ride the giant stallion for it, easily swinging up onto it’s back. God he loved the jealous looks several men were giving him. Watching her handle the great beast with amazing ease had him shifting again. This girl was arousing him constantly! He hadn’t been like this since he was a teen just coming into manhood. When he claimed her they would stay in his tent for several days!

The people cheered and cried out encouragement as she raced the great horse around the course set for her. The way she maneuvered her mount and practically became one with her horse proved she was meant to be among them. Never had he seen such skill with a horse but from his own people, especially not on a horse far larger than the rider would normally ride. When she was then given a bow to show her archery skills he was slightly less impressed. She wasn’t bad, managing to hit all of the targets, however she certainly had room for improvement. Still, not many outside the Dothraki could boast the ability to shoot from a moving horse. 

His mind drifted to more pleasurable places as his eyes watched her hips and thighs with each passing of the horse. The way she gripped its mane, the way her hips rolled and her thighs clenched. He truly could not wait to show her a different type of riding. He knew she hadn’t done that type before given some of her reactions, and the rumors that most women in Westeros, especially those from the Houses, remained chaste till marriage. 

A soft coughing from his side had him looking at his Blood Riders and Kos. They were all giving him knowing looks. Well could they blame him for his mind wandering to such places? 

Qotho jerked his head towards the arena where he could see the obstacle course and targets had been taken down and his bride’s new mount was calmly led to the side by one of the northern children, who also clearly knew how to handle such a horse. 

Focusing on the center of the arena he saw his woman facing off against Haggo, his First Blood Rider and long time friend. They had been together since they could walk. Drogo knew his friend would not go easy on the girl. Haggo would want solid proof that she was indeed worthy for his friend and Khal. To him, that meant she had to best him in combat. 

Drogo might have been more worried, knowing how well his friend fought, but he’d seen the determined light in the girl’s eyes. She had something to fight for, something to protect. So he simply settled in again, posture remaining lazy even if his eyes made sure to capture everything before him. 

The girl had been given water and a short break. Her hair barely held in the braid now, the loose strands curling about her face chaotically. Her pale skin was flushed from the exertion and the heat of the sun, a layer of sweat making it gleam. 

By the Great Stallion he wanted this girl. 

Haggo and the girl circled each other, both wary of their new foe. Haggo had seen her fight, but the girl had no such background on him. She could only base his style from what she had experienced when the Dothraki had first caught them. They traded a few test blows, each searching for an opening. Her caution told Drogo a lot. She could be patient and wait her enemy out until the best time to strike. When it did, she struck hard and fast. Haggo was sure to feel the hit she just landed for at least the next week. Most would not have seen the pain flash across his friend’s stoic face, but Drogo had. 

Using this against him, the girl feinted towards his weak side in an expected move, only to twirl away and strike his other side when he attempted to raise his guard. Drogo nearly allowed a laugh to escape at the look of vexation on his friend. Not only could his dragon-wolf fight, but she could strategize as well, a very dangerous combination. 

This bout went on for much longer than the others, both showcasing immense skill. The crowd loved it; however, he noted several of the other Khals and Kos watching his girl a bit too closely. He especially did not like the look the Targaryen ‘King’ sported. He had already shown his dislike for her apparent heritage and the fool seemed to finally realize she was the reason he had spurned his sister. The dragon princess likely paid the price for his decision. Still, the boy better not try anything to harm his chosen, or he’d show him why he was the most feared Khal in existence. 

Finally the girl managed to best Haggo, with a sly maneuver. While clearly outmatched in strength, the girl had a lethal grace and speed that she utilized to her advantage. If anything she appeared to use his the warriors’ size and strength against them. It would make his own fight with her tricky, but he did so love a challenge. 

Khal Motho stood up once the raucous applause had quieted slightly. 

“As eldest of the Khals, I have seen and verified this girl as worthy of the final challenge!” Cheers erupted from the crowd. “She has proven herself with the sacred trials and against one of our fiercest warriors.” (No one could argue with those words, for Drogo’s men were considered among the best, especially his Blood Riders.) He then turned to the Dosh Khaleen. “Do the Khaleens find her worthy of the title Khalsa?”

The eldest amongst them stood, bowing to acknowledge the Khal. The people all hushed waiting for the answer. If the Dosh Khaleen rejected the girl, the contest would have been for naught. There was no reason for them to do so, except perhaps to spite him. Thankfully the Great Stallion was on his side.

“We find her worthy of the name Khalsa,” the Khaleen spoke calmly not even flinching at the deafening roar of approval that rushed forth from the crowd. When she raised a hand they all quieted quickly. “But to bear the name, the Great Stallion demands a worthy Khal to claim her in combat, to prove he deserves such a partner.”

Here Drogo stood, his eyes sweeping the others to let them know he would not tolerate any other them trying anything foolish. This was his girl, his woman, and he would claim her. Thankfully none of them dared to refute his silent claim, most respecting his strength and others like Morgo still chaffing from their original ploy to ruin the trial failing so spectacularly. 

Haggo came to his side, leaning close. “Watch your sides brother. This one is smart and cunning. She is a true warrior.”

Drogo sent him a sideways look. “So you approve?”

“When you claim her, ours will be the mightiest Khalasar ever,” Haggo informed him with complete surety before moving to join the others in the stands. 

Drogo let a fierce smile flash for a brief moment. That one statement said more than any other words his friend could have given him. It also helped to ease what little anxiety he had over taking this path. To know his oldest friend not only agreed with but approved his choice wholly pleased him. Now he just needed to take the prize.


	4. chapter 4

Jona watched as Khal Drogo walked calmly into the ring. He carried no weapons, which had her immediately on guard. Either he was over confident or he knew how to fight an armed opponent unarmed. She would place her bet on the former. Drogo did not strike her as foolish, not like some of the other Khals she’d seen here. He was confident and arrogant to an extent, but something about him told her he could back up said attitude. The respect ever other warrior here gave him, even the other Khals told her even more. 

He was quite the specimen. He wore only his leather trousers, and blue paint decorating his rather impressive chest. Jona had seen men in minor states of undress before, it happened in the Keep though the older she got the more propriety demanded she not see any male in a state of undress. Those she had seen were her brother and Theon, usually when the family was swimming in the hot pools. The soldiers certainly knew better than to bare their skin anywhere other than the barracks. Plus it was just too cold in the north to go without clothing, even in summer. Still, Jona was determined not to let this faze her. She had one last fight to go through, one she knew no one expected or wanted her to win. Part of her though dearly wanted to beat this man, just to show that she would not be ruled by anyone. She was a she-wolf of Winterfell, and they did not surrender. 

His dark eyes took her in, the heat in them leaving her near tingling. The smirk he flashed showed he had some inkling of his affect on her. This only angered her, allowing her to send him her most fearsome glare. Sadly it did nothing but amuse the man. Well, she’d just have to show him.

Pulling her staff into a defensive position she set her feet in a sturdy stance. So what if he did not have a weapon, she wasn’t so prideful that she would get rid of hers. Only idiots let pride win over commonsense in a fight. The look he sent her indicated he approved of her decision, not that she cared what he thought. 

They circled each other both ignoring the yells and screams from the crowd. The world around them seemed to disappear as Jona focused on her opponent. This only happened when she was in a serious fight. Ser Rodrik had told her it was something only a few warriors could do, a talent that made them dangerous, though it could be harmful in a battle is the soldier lost their awareness of their surroundings. But in this case it would benefit her. 

Drogo made the first move, choosing to rush her from the right. She brought her staff down in a rounded swing, knowing he would dodge it. She was not expecting him to block the staff with one forearm, turning into her to throw her off balance. She managed to keep hold of the staff as she rolled back from his strike, feet going over her head. She used the momentum and her staff to push off the ground and back to her feet. She swung the staff around her back to the side he would not expect and struck at his exposed shoulder. The man ducked and rolled himself, coming to his feet and turning to face her. 

Back and forth they danced, Drogo tagging her more often than not, though she managed to escape any capturing hold for the time being. She knew he wasn’t playing with her, though she did doubt he was using his full strength. Something indicated that he was taking this very seriously because this ‘trial’ was special to their people. Truthfully she had no clue, as she knew little about the Dothraki culture. She did know her energy was starting to leave her and he would win due to his better stamina. She’d be damned though if she didn’t draw blood!

She spun quickly after a round kick to his face, he had dodged it, and his body turned in a fashion that left his side open again. She continued her spinning motion, bringing the staff down to strike him, but he managed to catch the edge of it and push it to the ground with the arm closest to her, before jerking the staff from her hands. She was leaning forward but managed to regain her balance. His left arm grabbed her right and spun her towards him. With her left she swiped at his face, her nails catching the flesh of his cheek managing to leave three bloody marks on his dark skin. 

His hand trapping her wrist clenched slightly but not in a punishing way. Jona didn’t bother trying to read his expression, instead brought her knee up to hit his gut in an attempt to force him to release her. Instead his free arm trapped her leg against his waist and he pulled her entire body up, and then slammed her down into the ground. The impact forced the air from her lungs and spots seemed to dance along her vision. Drogo managed to capture both her wrists and pulled them above her head, leaving her stretched out under him. Her legs were trapped by his lower body, in such a fashion that she could not utilize them to strike back

Jona knew she had lost, and instinctively submitted her neck to the man above her. Tears stung at her eyes but she refused to allow them to fully form or fall. She had lost her freedom, but had saved her small pack. It would be worth this humiliation. It had to be. 

Xxx

Drogo was surprised to find he was actually breathing heavy. Even after the trial and fighting Haggo, this woman had enough energy and determination to give him a fight worthy of any warrior. His blood roared with heat when she managed to draw his blood. While technically to prove her worth to him she would have to ‘mark’ him, the most any of them expected was for one of her strikes to make contact with his skin, which she had done multiple times. To actually draw blood of a Khal was a move that none had dared to dream of. Drogo knew he would wear these scars with pride, and they would scar because she had dug deep. Yes, his woman was a true predator, a wolf as the Mother Mare had told him of, certainly more wolf than dragon. Then to have her submit to him by baring her throat, set his loins on fire. 

She was his, his wife, his partner, his Khalsa! No one else would ever have her. 

He could wait no longer. Leaning down he bite gently into her the junction of her neck and shoulder. He felt the shudder that went through her small body. Trapping her wrists with one hand he let his other reach down between them, pulling her skirt up to bare her to him. His fingers slid over her nether lips and then pushed into her womanhood. She was so warm and tight! As his fingers pushed in and out of her, the wetness growing to allow easier passage, he mouthed her neck and down to her breasts. He lifted up to look her in the eyes. 

He almost laughed at how shocked she was, her innocence truly showing. He doubted she expected him to claim her like this in front of everyone, but it was the Dothraki way. She would need to get used to it, for he doubted he could always wait for the cover of his tent to take her. His hand holding her wrists squeezed slightly, one brow lifting in question and slight warning. Her fingers curled defensively, before she took a deep breath and relaxed her arms and body. Her grey eyes showing she understood, even though she was clearly uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally. 

Normally he wouldn’t care about a woman’s comfort, as all he wanted was his own pleasure. However, this woman was now his, more importantly she was his equal, so he would make sure she enjoyed their copulation. He leaned down and kissed her kindly on the lips, enjoying the surprise that flashed through her eyes, before they softened in gratitude. 

Releasing her wrists he moved his now free hand to her breasts releasing them from her top. They were young, still forming, but beautifully rounded and firm. His hand cupped one as his mouth descended on the other. He felt her jerk in shock then shudder, as he continued to play her body, his fingers never stopping their rhythm in her moistening center. He relished the way her breath hitched and her body started to squirm, pushing into his hands instead of away from them. 

With a twist of his fingers he felt her clench and shake, fluid soaking his fingers as she came. Pulling back with a very pleased smirk, he flipped her to her stomach, pulled her onto her hands and knees. He was a stallion, so he would mount his mare properly. Pulling out his hard cock he lined it up with her wet center. He let the head of his dick rub against her hole and clit, pleased when she pushed her hips back. Finally he pushed into her, forcing himself to go slow, not just for her, but to keep from spilling too soon. By the Stallion she was deliciously tight! 

His proof of her maidenhood met the head of his cock, and with a gentle kiss to her shoulder and a sharp thrust forward he claimed it forever. He held still as she adjusted to him, not once crying out, though from her sudden tenseness he knew it had hurt. He leaned down to kiss her shoulders and neck some more, so proud of his brave strong woman. 

When he felt her shifting around him he moved. His pace steady like when he rode his own mount. Soon though the pleasure grew too much and he began to hasten his pace. He pulled up so he stood tall on his knees, his hands wrapping around her small waist as he plunged into her again and again in a fast hard rate. Her inner walls wrapped around his cock in such a fashion that he was honestly shocked that he had not spilled yet. It was so pleasurable he could not imagine ever taking his pleasure anywhere else ever again. 

He let one hand drift up her sweat soaked back, loving the smooth curve of her spine and the clear muscles flexing under his touch. She was braced on her forearms, her head dipped down. He could hear her pants and mewls, but she was not loud. That would not do; he wanted to hear his she-wolf howl. His fingers clenched into the base of her braid at the nape of her neck, pulling back until her body lifted up. This new angle helped him get into her deeper, as he pushed up into her. His other hand drifted around her waist to help support her, making sure to angle his fingers to hit her clit as her hips cantered against his. One of her hands gripped his forearm to brace herself, her fingers clenching and unclenching. The other reached back to hold his hip, almost demanding him to give her more. 

Drogo was certainly up to the challenge, enjoying the way she rode his cock, her moans growing louder. Vaguely he heard the cheers and sounds of the people around them celebrating the conclusion of the trials. Some were no doubt enjoying their own partners as he was. It didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was the beauty in his arms, taking his cock like a mare in heat, sheathing him in warmth. Finally her walls started fluttering around his dick, the sensation pulling his own release. With a yell he pushed deep into her, letting his orgasm sweep through him, his bride shaking through her own. 

She flopped to the ground, unable to hold herself up as she caught her breath. Drogo worked on catching his own, slowly sliding out of her body. It wouldn’t be long before he took her again, but he would allow her a chance to rest. Moving back he tucked himself back into his clothes, then gently helped to shift her skirt back into place and cover her breasts again. He may have had to take her in front of everyone to prove his claim, but no need for them to enjoy his spoils, even if only with their eyes. 

Standing tall he helped her up, not daring to pick her up in his arms as he might have any other woman. No it would not due to show weakness. Besides the look she gave him told him she would do more than growl at him should he dare try. He chuckled as he moved towards the dais his men were waiting for them on, a new set of pillows situated next to his own to show she was now his. 

Settling his bride next to him, then taking his own seat, he watched as the people danced and rejoiced in the completion of the trials. Feasting, fighting and fucking was occurring everywhere to celebrate his union. Only a few looked unhappy, the most notable being the children of the north. More than a few glared his way, though they managed to maintain their manners. He knew their continued good behavior was only in difference to his new wife, and he could respect that. 

Moving one arm possessively around his wife and pulling her close he let himself enjoy the festivities. This was a night that would be remembered for some time in Dothraki history.


End file.
